


Hands That Can Burn

by KiraSunshine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, Intercrural Sex, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, no beta we die like Dean on a rusty nail, this is before season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28367550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraSunshine/pseuds/KiraSunshine
Summary: After a hunt, a drunk John takes advantage of Dean. (Plus the aftermath)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/John Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

Dean heard the hotel door open as John stumbled in. They hadn’t found anything to kill that night so John had gone out drinking. Dean went back to the hotel to get some sleep but awoke when John came in, just like always, which is why he slept facing the wall. He heard John kick off his boots and drop his jacket as he shuffled over to the other bed. John kicked his jeans off, but then it was silent for a good ten seconds.

Dean’s about to lift his head to see if John’s okay when the bed dips as John climbs in. Dean starts to turn to tell John he’s in the wrong bed when John’s hand is on the side of his face pressing it into the pillow. 

“Dad, what--” 

John’s other hand starts rubbing up and down Dean’s arm as he gently shushes him. He slides up against him and Dean realizes with horror that John’s not wearing any underwear. Worse yet, he’s hard. 

Dean tries to scramble out of bed but John’s got him pinned to his side. 

“Dad, please--”

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

John keeps stroking his arm and then moves to his chest. 

“Dad, stop!” 

John’s hand moves to his underwear waistband. 

“Off.”

“Dad, please--”

“OFF!”

Dean flinches. He knows better than to argue when John raises his voice, so he numbly slides them off. 

John grows calm again and removes his hand from Dean’s face to go back to stroking his arm. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers as he spits into his hand and guides his dick in between Dean’s thighs. 

“No--” Dean bites his tongue to keep from saying more. It’s obvious it won’t matter anyway.

John starts thrusting and groaning with pleasure, his hands as burning hot as the rest of him, roaming Dean’s body. 

Dean stares numbly at the wall. He can do this. It will be over in a few minutes.

John’s hands dip lower and brush Dean’s dick. Dean lets out an involuntary gasp. 

John pauses, and Dean realizes with horror what’s about to happen. John licks his hand and wraps it around Dean’s dick. 

“No, please--”

“Shhhh.”

This is so much worse than before. He can’t just try to tune it out and pretend it’s not happening, because as much as it makes him sick to admit it, John’s hand feels good. It’s rough and covered in calluses, but surprisingly gentle. 

John speeds up his thrusting and a few seconds later comes with a groan, coating Dean’s thighs in wet stickiness. Dean hopes that will be the end of it but then John resumes jerking him off. Dean whimpers quietly but John must take that as a good sign because he speeds up and a few seconds later Dean comes with an unwilling moan. John strokes him through it and then they both just lay there for a few seconds, catching their breath. 

John then gently squeezes Dean’s shoulder and gets out of bed without a word. Dean lays there for a few minutes, desperately willing himself to get out of bed to go clean up in the bathroom, but he feels paralysed. All he can manage is to wiggle his underwear back up. He doesn’t know how long he lays there before finally managing to pass out.

The next morning he awakes with a start and doesn’t know why until he moves and feels the dried mess on his thighs. His eyes snap to the other bed but it’s empty. He doesn’t hear any noise from the bathroom so he slowly walks over to find it empty. He grabs some clean clothes out of his bag and takes a long, hot shower, trying to scrub off the feelings of last night. 

After toweling off and dressing, he walks out the door and freezes at the sight of John sitting at the tiny table by the TV, reading a newspaper. John glances up at him.

“Get your stuff, there’s a skinwalker near Oklahoma City.”

Dean can’t move. He keeps going over last night in his mind. He almost wishes John had hurt him. He knows how to deal with pain. This? He has no fucking idea how to deal with this. 

John glances up at him again. “Now, Dean.”

Dean desperately wants to ask him why, or if he even remembers, but all that comes out is 

“Yes, sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record I'm not trying to romanticize this, I think this is Dean's way of dealing with trauma. Also I hope this doesn't make me sound like a John Winchester apologist because I'm NOT.

It had been almost a week since the night he was trying to forget. They had spent days tracking the skinwalker and tonight had finally killed it, but not before it had sliced John’s arm open with the silver knife he was using to stab it. 

Now they were sitting on a motel bed because Dean had insisted on cleaning and bandaging it even though John had said he could do it himself. They had barely talked the last week, or rather, John had barely said anything to him. Not that John was the most communicative person to begin with, but…

Dean was just trying to forget it had happened, and he hoped John didn’t even remember, but sometimes he caught John staring at him and then busy himself when Dean made eye contact. He had been drinking less too, spending most of his time researching or out in the car. 

Now though, sitting on the bed together while Dean cleans John’s bicep is the closest they’ve been since that night. Now that he’s starting to process it, he thinks that maybe it wasn’t all bad. Thinking about John’s hands stroking his arm and whispering assurances was something that he hadn’t realized he was craving. Being a hunter means never getting attached, which has left him with a deep sense of isolation and loneliness that threatened to swallow him whole sometimes. It wasn’t so bad when Sam was around, but he was gone now, and Dean was equal parts proud and miserable. Maybe this, as messed up as it was, was what he needed. 

Even just touching John’s arm to bandage it was making it hard for Dean to breath. His hands lingered on John’s arm after he finished wrapping it in gauze. He hesitantly made eye contact, hands still on John’s arm. John’s expression was unreadable. He abruptly stood up, pulling his arm from Dean’s grasp.

“I’m gonna shower. Clean up.”

He disappeared into the bathroom with a click of the door. Dean was certain now that he remembered. If he could just talk to him-- but John wasn’t the kind of person you can just talk to. You have to prove to him you know what you’re doing. He needs to prove to him that this is what’s best for both of them. The first time he had been panicking, but he’s pretty sure that if given another opportunity, he would appreciate the touches, the closeness, the comfort. 

He stands up, his legs shaking slightly, and peels off his clothes. He lets them drop and slowly walks to the bathroom. He opens the door slowly to find the shower going full blast. He slowly reaches for the shower curtain. No going back now. 

As soon as he pulls it back John whips around. He seems speechless for a second, then, realizing Dean was naked chokes out, “Dean, what the fuck?”

Dean pushes through his fear and steps into the tub with John. John seems frozen under the water, which is disconcerting to Dean because he can’t remember ever seeing John scared or at a loss for what to do. He realizes he hadn’t thought of what to say so he stands there awkwardly for a few seconds before hesitantly reaching out a hand to touch John’s shoulder and brush his fingers over John’s chest before dropping his hand. 

“Please…” is all he can think to say. 

This seems to snap John out of his paralysis. He takes a small step forward. 

“Dean…” God, where to begin? 'I’m sorry?' 'I didn’t mean to hurt you?' But he did. He was selfish, and hurt Dean in the worst way. 

“Dean, I’m sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It didn’t hurt,” Dean says quietly. He glances up at John with a shameful expression, like he’s scared of John’s reaction. 

John’s stomach twists. “Dean, we shouldn’t do this.”

Dean’s eyes grow a little harder, “Well it’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

John can’t argue with him there. “Dean, go put some clothes on.” 

Dean starts to take a step back, then pauses. He looks at John with an almost pleading expression, begging for something, anything. 

John knows he can never be forgiven, and all he can do now is damage control. Whatever Dean is looking for from him, he knows that he’s not capable of giving it, especially not now. 

“Dean, I said go get dressed!” 

Dean sighs a little. He dejectedly climbs out of the tub and leaves the bathroom, shutting the door with a click. 

John sags against the shower wall and thinks 'What was I expecting? That he would just never bring it up? I’m lucky he hasn’t tried to murder me yet.' 

John stands under the shower spray for a few more minutes, to give Dean time, and then slowly towels off and redresses. He looks in the mirror, which he hasn’t been able to do for the last week, and promises himself right then and there that he will do whatever it takes to keep Dean safe and protected. It’s the least he can do... Even if it kills him.


End file.
